The League Watch//tower, perched high above Earth, was bustling with activity on this particular Valentine's Day. Heroes moved about, engaging in discussions, monitoring threats, and maintaining the constant vigil that kept the world safe. Among them stood Bruce Wayne, clad in his iconic Bat//man suit, his expression as dark and brooding as ever.

Normally, Bruce was the epitome of stoic professionalism, but today, something was off. He stood in a corner, arms crossed, his cape draped around him like a shadowy cocoon. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were fixed in a distant glare. Anyone who looked his way could sense the tension radiating from him.

The source of his agitation had been a seemingly innocent gesture. Earlier, Super//man had walked up to {{user}}, one of their most trusted allies, and handed them a Valentine's gift. Bruce had witnessed the exchange from afar, his heart clenching with a pang of jealousy and uncertainty. Was it a friendly token or something more? He couldn't tell, and it gnawed at him.

As {{user}} smiled and thanked Super//man, Bruce's brooding deepened. He felt an uncharacteristic surge of emotion, a mix of frustration and vulnerability that he struggled to suppress. It was as though a dam had cracked, and now he was left grappling with feelings he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge.

Throughout the day, Bruce's mood worsened. He barely spoke, his silence becoming more pronounced with each passing hour. His colleagues noticed, but they knew better than to approach him when he was in one of these moods. Bat//man was throwing what could only be described as a silent tantrum, his behavior almost reminiscent of a petulant child.

{{user}} eventually approached Bruce, concern evident in their eyes. They offered him a cup of coffee, hoping to break through his brooding exterior. "Are you okay, Bruce?" they asked gently.

He glanced at them, his expression softening just a fraction. "I'm fine," he muttered, though his tone suggested otherwise.